The Beast
Page 38
Not.
“What the hell happened to your goddamn shirt?” V shot back. “And why the shits are you off post?”
Goddamn it, he should have known not to put that idiot on guard duty. But at least Payne hadn’t left the gun range—and that was something V didn’t need to check for himself. His sister was the kind of fighter he’d trust not only with his own life and the lives of his brothers and mate, but with making sure their prisoner didn’t so much as sneeze without permission.
“I spilled on it.”
“What? You’re eating in there?”
“No. Of course not.” Lassiter sauntered on by to where the scrubs were kept. “Okay, yes. Fine. It was a strawberry milk shake—and I’m just getting a fresh shirt and going back in. Relax.”
V took a hard drag. It was either that or put the fucker in a choke hold. “Strawberry? Really?”
“Fuck you, Vishous.”
As the angel smiled and blew a kiss over his shoulder, at least the bitch didn’t pump his junk.
“Can I kill him,” V muttered to Wrath. “Please. Just once. Or maybe twice.”
“Get in line.”
V refocused. “As I was saying, Xcor is going nowhere.”
“I want to find out where the Bastards are staying,” Wrath ordered, “and bring the rest of them in. But they’ve got to be assuming he’s been captured. That’s what I would do. No body? No witnesses to a death? Safest course is to assume their leader’s become a prisoner of war and get the fuck out of wherever they’ve been staying.”
“Agreed. But you never know what you can learn when you push the right levers.”
“Keep Tohr away from him.”
“Roger that.”
V glanced at Tohr again. The brother was standing in the back of the group and looking down the hallway where the gun range was. It felt weird to think in terms of reining the guy in or keeping tabs on him, but it was what it was.
Sometimes emotions were too much for even the most logical of fighters.
Except for him, of course.
He was fucking tight as shit.
“So Assail’s two rooms down,” V said. “If you’re ready to talk to him.”
“Take me there, V.”
Again, usually it would have been Tohr doing the duty, but V stepped in close and nudged the King forward, leaving the Brothers to reassume various poses and sit-downs as they waited for Rhage to wake up.
After they had gone some distance, the King said softly, “So what do you know about Rhage and his little premature shooting contest.” When V cursed, Wrath shook his head. “Tell me. And don’t pretend you don’t fucking know something. You were the last one to speak with him.”
Vishous considered keeping shit under wraps, but in the end, lying to Wrath wasn’t in anybody’s best interest. “I foresaw his death and tried to get him to leave the field. He wouldn’t and . . . there you go.”
“He went out there. Knowing he was going to die.”
“Yeah.”
“Goddamn it.” After Wrath dropped a couple of f-bombs, he switched gears to another happy subject. “I also heard you had a visitor. When you went back to the campus.”
“The Omega.” Man, he didn’t like to even say that name. But like he’d enjoyed talking about Rhage’s death wish? “Yeah, my mother’s brother took care of clean-up. If his day job as being the source of all evil in the world doesn’t work out, he has a second career as a janitor waiting for him.”
“Any problems?”
“He didn’t even know we were there.”
“Thank fuck.” Wrath glanced over even though he couldn’t see. “Have you talked to your mother lately?”
“No. Nope. Not at all.”
“I asked her for an audience. She hasn’t acknowledged me.”
“Can’t help you there. Sorry.”
“I’ll go up there uninvited if I have to.”
V stopped at the door to Assail’s recovery room, but didn’t open it. “What exactly are you looking for from her?”
“I want to know if she’s still up there.” Wrath’s cruel, aristocratic face got tight. “Going up against slayers is one thing, but we’re going to need a wingman with serious power to face the Omega head-on—and I’m not kidding myself. We just knocked out ninety percent of what he has on the earth. He will respond, and we’re not going to like whatever it is.”
“Fuck me,” V muttered.
“More like ‘us,’ my brother.”
“Yeah. That, too.” V took another drag to get his shit together. “But you know, if you want me to talk to her or . . .”
“Hopefully it won’t be necessary.”
Annnnd that makes two of us, buddy, V thought.
Before his mommy issues made him even crankier than he usually was, he rapped on the door. “You decent in there, motherfucker?” He pushed in without waiting for permission. “How we doing, assholes?”
Well, well, well, he thought as he saw Assail sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed. Detox much?
The male was sweating like he was a chicken dinner under a heat lamp, but also shivering sure as if his lower body were in an ice bath. There were circles the color of crankcase oil under both his eyes, and his hands kept going to his face and his forearms, brushing at some kind of lint or stray piece of hair that didn’t exist.
“What the hell happened to your goddamn shirt?” V shot back. “And why the shits are you off post?”
Goddamn it, he should have known not to put that idiot on guard duty. But at least Payne hadn’t left the gun range—and that was something V didn’t need to check for himself. His sister was the kind of fighter he’d trust not only with his own life and the lives of his brothers and mate, but with making sure their prisoner didn’t so much as sneeze without permission.
“I spilled on it.”
“What? You’re eating in there?”
“No. Of course not.” Lassiter sauntered on by to where the scrubs were kept. “Okay, yes. Fine. It was a strawberry milk shake—and I’m just getting a fresh shirt and going back in. Relax.”
V took a hard drag. It was either that or put the fucker in a choke hold. “Strawberry? Really?”
“Fuck you, Vishous.”
As the angel smiled and blew a kiss over his shoulder, at least the bitch didn’t pump his junk.
“Can I kill him,” V muttered to Wrath. “Please. Just once. Or maybe twice.”
“Get in line.”
V refocused. “As I was saying, Xcor is going nowhere.”
“I want to find out where the Bastards are staying,” Wrath ordered, “and bring the rest of them in. But they’ve got to be assuming he’s been captured. That’s what I would do. No body? No witnesses to a death? Safest course is to assume their leader’s become a prisoner of war and get the fuck out of wherever they’ve been staying.”
“Agreed. But you never know what you can learn when you push the right levers.”
“Keep Tohr away from him.”
“Roger that.”
V glanced at Tohr again. The brother was standing in the back of the group and looking down the hallway where the gun range was. It felt weird to think in terms of reining the guy in or keeping tabs on him, but it was what it was.
Sometimes emotions were too much for even the most logical of fighters.
Except for him, of course.
He was fucking tight as shit.
“So Assail’s two rooms down,” V said. “If you’re ready to talk to him.”
“Take me there, V.”
Again, usually it would have been Tohr doing the duty, but V stepped in close and nudged the King forward, leaving the Brothers to reassume various poses and sit-downs as they waited for Rhage to wake up.
After they had gone some distance, the King said softly, “So what do you know about Rhage and his little premature shooting contest.” When V cursed, Wrath shook his head. “Tell me. And don’t pretend you don’t fucking know something. You were the last one to speak with him.”
Vishous considered keeping shit under wraps, but in the end, lying to Wrath wasn’t in anybody’s best interest. “I foresaw his death and tried to get him to leave the field. He wouldn’t and . . . there you go.”
“He went out there. Knowing he was going to die.”
“Yeah.”
“Goddamn it.” After Wrath dropped a couple of f-bombs, he switched gears to another happy subject. “I also heard you had a visitor. When you went back to the campus.”
“The Omega.” Man, he didn’t like to even say that name. But like he’d enjoyed talking about Rhage’s death wish? “Yeah, my mother’s brother took care of clean-up. If his day job as being the source of all evil in the world doesn’t work out, he has a second career as a janitor waiting for him.”
“Any problems?”
“He didn’t even know we were there.”
“Thank fuck.” Wrath glanced over even though he couldn’t see. “Have you talked to your mother lately?”
“No. Nope. Not at all.”
“I asked her for an audience. She hasn’t acknowledged me.”
“Can’t help you there. Sorry.”
“I’ll go up there uninvited if I have to.”
V stopped at the door to Assail’s recovery room, but didn’t open it. “What exactly are you looking for from her?”
“I want to know if she’s still up there.” Wrath’s cruel, aristocratic face got tight. “Going up against slayers is one thing, but we’re going to need a wingman with serious power to face the Omega head-on—and I’m not kidding myself. We just knocked out ninety percent of what he has on the earth. He will respond, and we’re not going to like whatever it is.”
“Fuck me,” V muttered.
“More like ‘us,’ my brother.”
“Yeah. That, too.” V took another drag to get his shit together. “But you know, if you want me to talk to her or . . .”
“Hopefully it won’t be necessary.”
Annnnd that makes two of us, buddy, V thought.
Before his mommy issues made him even crankier than he usually was, he rapped on the door. “You decent in there, motherfucker?” He pushed in without waiting for permission. “How we doing, assholes?”
Well, well, well, he thought as he saw Assail sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed. Detox much?
The male was sweating like he was a chicken dinner under a heat lamp, but also shivering sure as if his lower body were in an ice bath. There were circles the color of crankcase oil under both his eyes, and his hands kept going to his face and his forearms, brushing at some kind of lint or stray piece of hair that didn’t exist.
